


Princess in Chains.

by TayBartlett9000



Category: British Royalty RPF, The Crown (TV)
Genre: Anger, Crown, Desperation, Duty, Frustration, Gen, Loneliness, Loss, Lost - Freeform, Love, Princess - Freeform, Royalty, anguish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 08:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: Princess Margaret has lost everything. She sits alone, surrounded  by the shattered remnants of her life, anger consuming her soul.  Margaret  has lost  the man she loves, and she has lost  him to the crown.





	Princess in Chains.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the crown. I find the queen and princess Margaret to be interesting characters and interesting people. I do not write this in order to reflect either her majesty the queen or Princess Margaret. I write this in order to reflect only the way in which Margaret was portrayed on 'The Crown.' This is a work of fiction only.

I sit alone, mind reeling, spirit empty and soul as heavy as a blanket of stone. The weight of my emotions  has settled upon my shoulders, but I do not have any more tears left to shed.

I rest my chin in my hands, rubbing my aching eyes and pressing my free hand to my pounding head. The carpet is scattered with my precious ornaments and figurenes, their value lost to me now. The streams of sunlight that filter through the windows  shine upon broken glass, and I’m not sorry.

Though I sit in silence and isolation,   my thoughts are keeping me company. Dark thoughts, they are.

‘Peter.’ My head snaps up and I catch my breath in a sob. No. I was wrong. I have plenty of tears left to shed. They fall thick and fast as I struggle to  fight against the tidel wave that threatens to engulf me. I lift my hand to attempt to stem the flow. It does not work. Salt drenched pain flows out of me, and I know only one thing. Peter is gone.

No. To say that he is simply gone does not quite stretch as far as to explain my turmoil. Peter is  not gone. He has been snatched from me, taken by the crown.

Looking round, I see the portrate on the wall. Her smiling face. That regal pose  that demands that all who glance at her  respect her as a noble, a leader and a symbol of all that  is  righteous and fare.

The laughter explodes from my lips. Histerical, almost insane laughter. Oh, how I want to punch  that mousey haired face. I want to obliterate that regal smile and crush the crown into dust. She deserves it not. Sitting on the  cowch, I imagine  her walking through the long  and lonely coridors of Buckingham palace, followed as always by her train of servants and political advisors, snapping at  her heals like  sycophantic dogs. It makes me sick. She makes me sick. It is because of her, that I have lost everything. It is because of her, that I no longer have a life that is worth living.

Elizabeth.

That retched name rings in my ears and I want to scream again. I reach out mmy hand but grip nothing but empty air. Every ornament that once decorated this room has been shattered. It’s symbolic, I think. The piles of glass and pottery upon the carpet remind me all-too clearly of the shattered state of my heart. This  disolusion of everything  I love is all down to her. Elizabeth – my perfect sister who can put no foot wrong, has destroyed my life.

I imagine her now. She will be sitting down to afternoon tea now, possibly with her new prime minister who is of course more than eager to sip earle grey from her very palm. Perhaps Philip will be sitting with her, trying  to keep up the appearance of a man who is more noble than he has  any right to be. She’ll be laughing. I guarantee she will be laughing. Elizabeth has nothing to  keep her from smiling.

 Once she is  through with the stately garden party, she  will no doubt go back inside to help someone else. There she will sit, all prim and proper, helping and  advising. She may even offer   her guests  a word of kindness. Perhaps, Elizabeth will even offer said guest a  furvent promise that she will do all she can to assist them in which ever problem  they  have asked her to solve.

Ande of course, these poor people will believe her, as I believed her. I too had been taken in by that sweet smile, that  courtly reassurance and the promises of  help and support. I spent two years without Peter, thinking that once his banishment  to Brussles came to an end, we would be able to once again resume our relationship. But again, she shattered that illusion. All that pain, all that upset. And for what?  

Elizabeth and I made a promise to our dear late father years ago. We promised  him that we would not allow anyone or anything to stand in the way of our sisterly love for each other, and of course I meant to keep my word. At the time, she too made that promise. She gabe our father that sweet smile and swore she would stand by me forever. I wonder what he would say if he found out that his pride had let him down? I know he would be  angry on my behalf.

But  no one else seems to share this view. Elizabeth does after all wear the crown. That crown  seems to give my sister the power she desperately craves. She can do as she likes with that heavy piece of royal regalia upon her statelyu head. But then, Elizabeth has  always been able to do as she wishes. She was able to marry the man of her dreams, although the people of our great  empire did not think Philip a suitable match for her. Elizabeth got her way, yet I have lost my true match.

I have lost my  prince, and I don’t think anyone will ever step into the void left by his  absence. I want my Peter back in my life. I have waited so long. I do not wish to wait any longer for the dreams and life that is mine for the taking.

I collapse against the cushened back of the cowch, and cry until I feel no more.


End file.
